


Saturdays

by neaf



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 01:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/755302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neaf/pseuds/neaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Married and living with their daughter, Layla, Kurt and Blaine spend some lazy saturdays with the people they love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Game Called on Account of Pancakes

The first thing Blaine realised was that someone was calling his name. Well, whispering his name. And not his actual name, but the one he was called more often than not these days.

The second thing that came to him was the weight on his chest, and the tiny hands curled around fistfuls of his shirt.

And there was that name again, a rough whisper from a tiny voice.

He hummed quietly in acknowledgement.

“Daddy!” she hissed again.

“Mmm?” he managed as he stirred, opening lazy eyes to stare at his daughter’s face.

She stared patiently back at him, her giant blue-green eyes brighter than ever. “You awake?”

He chuckled softly, resting a hand on her back as his eyes drifted closed. “No.”

There was a long pause before he felt her hands tugging at his shirt again. “No but you are! Don’t lie.”

Unable to hold back his telltale grin, he opened his eyes again, raising his other hand to brush a handful of dark curls away from her face. “What is it?”

“I think Dad’s awake,” she whispered, resting her chin on his chest. 

Her little legs were curled at an angle, tucked up and warm on his stomach under a haphazardly draped blanket. He rubbed a soothing hand over her back absently as his mind slowly crawled into consciousness.

“Mmm,” he agreed, still trying to form proper sentences and hoping to god that was coffee he could smell.

“I don’t want to get up,” she whispered like it was a secret, tipping her head to rest her ear against his heartbeat. 

“It’s Saturday,” he said slowly. “We don’t have to get up.”

“But _Dad_ ,” she said simply, as if it were its own explanation.

“He doesn’t know we’re awake,” Blaine whispered back intensely, eyes drifting closed again. “So shhh.”

She giggled quietly, closing her eyes. “Shhh,” she echoed.

“This is an excellent plan,” Blaine mumbled. “I like this plan.”

Her head darted up. “Shh!” she insisted.

“Oh, okay,” he whispered, grinning. “I’m sorry. My bad.”

Her head rested again, fingers still curled into fabric as her weight rose and fell with his breathing. There was a distant noise of cutlery and the hissing of a fry pan before the strong smell of butter drifted through the room. Blaine’s mind swirled in the warm, safe feeling of cradling his daughter on the couch before he was jolted into consciousness by her sudden sharp movement.

She’d lifted her head again, nose up and eyes wide as she perched on both elbows. He watched her fondly through half-lidded eyes, trying not to laugh aloud at the image of her sniffing the air like a lion.

She was tugging on his shirt before she even looked down again. “Daddy, _daddy_!” she said, her voice almost panicked.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“Pancakes,” she hissed. “He’s making _pancakes_.”

Blaine’s eyes widened as the smells sank in, the rich scents of syrup and cooking batter floating on the air. “Crap.”

“Bad word!” she grumbled.

“Sorry, I owe you a dollar,” he said. “But those are definitely pancakes.”

“What do we do?” she asked, fighting a smile at their game.

“I think we might have to abort the mission,” he whispered back seriously. “Mission Pretend Sleep is a no-go, I repeat, no-go on account of pancakes.”

She shifted again at the sound of footsteps. “He’s coming!”

“Shh, forget that, pretend sleep is back on!”

She dove down fast, and he let out a tiny amused _oof!_ as her heavy head hit his chest at full force. As the footsteps grew closer, he settled down as best he could, cradling her gently and letting his eyes flutter closed into the best imitation of a sleeping face he could manage.

He had the sense of someone hovering in the archway that opened out onto the living room, and the tiny tinkle of cutlery on a tray gave it away. Part of him wanted to throw in a solid snore, just because he could.

“Oh, wow, I guess nobody in here wants pancakes then,” a soft, amused voice drifted across the room. “Everybody’s asleep. I’ll just have to eat all of these by myself.”

Blaine felt her stir slightly, and before he could stop it the grin spread across his face like wildfire.

Her tiny fists smacked into his chest once, and he felt her pull herself up on to her knees. “You broke!”

He was laughing now, in quick, noisy chuckling sounds that he couldn’t keep down. “You broke first!” he argued, pressing his palms to hers as she leaned her weight against him. “I felt you movin’. Kurt – who was it?”

With one eyebrow arched, Kurt glanced at his husband and daughter – both staring intently at him, waiting while he set up the breakfast trays on the coffee table. After a moment of silence, he rolled his eyes and scowled at them fondly.

“Daddy smiled first!” she insisted.

“Oh, he smiled,” Kurt agreed, amused. “But somebody’s a lookie-lou.”

Blaine tickled playfully under her armpits, rolling her as she squealed in delight. “Ha! I knew it! You peeked!”

“I did not!”

“Oh, you did too,” Kurt insisted. “Now come on, before it gets cold.”

She whined for a moment, collapsing flat onto Blaine’s chest and snuggling her face down into his t-shirt. “But I’m _warm_ ,” she protested.

Kurt finished setting up her plate, wandering around the table on his knees. “And if you don’t come eat soon, your breakfast won’t be.”

She rolled off the couch, scrambling on the carpet for a moment on hands and knees. Kurt laughed softly at her awkward dismount, gaze drifting over to where Blaine still lay motionless on the couch, his mop of curls splayed out on the cushions.

She grunted at the effort of getting herself upright, pulling a face at the early morning light that streamed down from the high windows. 

Kurt smiled wistfully. “I know, kiddo, I know. Sometimes I don’t want to get off of daddy either.”

Blaine shook violently with silent laughter as she wandered over to the table, oblivious. When she got there, she bumped into Kurt’s side before planting a tiny kiss on his cheek. “Morning Dad.”

“Morning, sweetie,” he answered, brushing a hand through her hair lovingly as she plonked herself down and pulled her plate closer. 

After she’d become all but entranced with her meal, Kurt glanced over to the couch again, and a devious grin spread across his features. He pushed himself up, and with two strides closed the gap and dove onto his husband, laughing at the startled sound that punched out of him.

“Hey!” she protested from the table, glancing back over her shoulder as her parents rolled around on the couch. “You stole my spot!”

“My spot now,” Kurt answered back, settling down and rubbing his cheek against Blaine’s chest.

“No fair!” she said, peeling off another strip of pancake and rolling it carefully.

“I made breakfast,” Kurt waved an arm at her as his eyes drifted closed. “I get the warm spot.”

Blaine tipped his head to the side, ignoring the wash of curls that fell in his face in favor of pressing his fingers through Kurt’s hair. “Does the warm spot get breakfast?”

“Shh,” Kurt answered, rocking as he pushed both arms under Blaine’s back to pull him closer. “Warm spots don’t talk.”

He could feel Blaine’s laughter vibrating through his chest, tickling against his ear and the side of his face. 

The clattering on her plate let them know she was finished, and if that wasn’t enough to, the sudden lump of her weight on top of both of them certainly was.

“Hey!” Blaine laughed in mock-outrage. 

Kurt grinned into his shirt as she shifted over him and slid down his side to fit neatly between the cushions and the two of them. He carefully pulled his arm out, draping it over her back as she dropped a head onto Blaine’s shoulder. 

There was a long stretch of quiet, and Kurt had no idea whether seconds had passed or minutes before Blaine’s voice pulled him up to consciousness again.

“I didn’t get any pancakes,” Blaine mumbled.

“I can make more,” Kurt said softly, eyes still closed. “Later. I don’t want to get up.”

She was already asleep, her tiny mouth open and waves of dark hair twisting up the back of the couch. 

Blaine glanced between them briefly, and craned his neck forward to press a kiss to both of their foreheads in turn. 

“It’s okay,” he said gently as Kurt drifted off. “It’s Saturday.”


	2. In Event of Bunny Confusion, Refer to Diagram

Kurt Hummel came home to a cacophony of cooking sounds and (mostly) acapella Disney music pouring from the kitchen of his house. With a tired smile he peeled off his coat, hanging it by the door and toeing off his shoes before he wandered down the hall. He leaned as he walked, craning to peer around the corner before he stepped into the brightly lit room.

“It means no worries!” Blaine twirled on the spot, singing convincingly into a spatula.

“For the rest of your days!” their daughter joined in, almost as loud and mostly off-key, waving a peppercorn grinder as maracas.

Kurt slid onto the bench alongside her, joining their harmony on _philosophy_ and closing out the song just as she dove into his arms.

“How was your day?”

“We went to the park!” she declared brightly, tipping her head back to look up at him so she didn’t have to let go of her grip on his waist.

He brushed a hand through her long, messy hair, extracting a twig. “Yes, I can see that.”

Blaine chuckled to himself as he took the soup off the stove and found a ladle in the drawer. “Hungry?”

“Starving,” Kurt answered.

“Uncle Finn came with us! We went to the jungle gym,” she announced, pulling their attention back.

“Now, what have I told you,” he scolded playfully. “You don’t need to go to the park, Uncle Finn _is_ a jungle gym.” 

Blaine snorted, shifting back and forth as he pulled out three bowls and served their dinner. 

“And he bought me a bunny!”

Kurt’s eyebrow arched, and he looked up at his husband, who was suddenly very interested in garnishing the soup. 

“He did what now?”

Blaine held up his hands in defence, smiling. “Not my fault, I left her with Finn for half an hour and now she’s the proud owner of a brown dwarf rabbit. Take it up with your brother.”

“I see.” Kurt glanced down at her, suddenly all too aware of the giant anime eyes she was putting on deliberately, and – oh god, was that a lip quiver?

“Can I keep him Dad? Pleeeeaassee?”

Kurt laughed, rubbing her back gently. “It’s a big responsibility. You have to take care of him. He won’t feed himself, or magically find water or clean out his own cage.”

“I know, I know, I’ll be good and make sure he has everything and I’ll take good care of him, but I can?” she asked frantically.

Kurt sighed, rolling his eyes. “Alright, alright.”

She let out a squeal of delight, rocking against him and snuggling tight. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!”

“Uhuh, okay.” He laughed, sliding off the counter and carrying her with him. “Come on, we have dinner.”

They pulled out chairs at the table, which had already been carefully set, and Kurt wondered to himself just how much of their afternoon was spent waiting for him. Saturdays were _their_ day, the day the three of them had together, and this week they’d been robbed of that. He’d tried not to think about it through the morning, but failed each and every time. Even while sitting through a business lunch and two other meetings that were reshuffled after his boss had pulled the new line and made his life a living hell. Worse still, this probably wasn’t going to be the last Saturday he lost, and the thought of that made his stomach churn.

Blaine finally sat down, and Kurt shook himself out of his trance as the three of them ate in quiet comfort.

“So what are you calling him?” Blaine asked.

“Uncle Finn,” she said.

“No,” Blaine laughed, “the rabbit. What are you naming the rabbit?”

She nodded. “Uncle Finn.”

Kurt narrowed his eyes, exchanging a confused glance with Blaine.

“I’m calling the bunny Uncle Finn,” she clarified again.

“But sweetie, won’t that get… confusing?” Kurt asked.

“No,” she answered. “Because one of them is a rabbit.”

Blaine almost choked on his soup.

“Okay,” Kurt said in agreement. She had a point.

“Why Uncle Finn?” Blaine asked once he’d recovered.

“Because,” she said, tearing a piece of bread away from her roll. “When I ask Bunny Finn questions, he looks confused, too.”

Blaine tried, he really did, but the whimpering laughter broke through after a few minutes and Kurt kicked at him playfully under the table.

“How was work?” Blaine managed to ask, once he’d calmed down.

Kurt sighed. “Long. And painful.”

“I don’t like it when you work Saturdays,” she added in quietly, and the silence that followed made Kurt’s heart hurt.

“I won’t be for much longer,” he told her softly, trying to find a reassuring smile.

“Well,” Blaine cut in, trying to ease the tension. “I call monkey-no-dishes.”

“Monkey-no-dishes!” she cried, and threw both arms up in the air.

“Oh, now, that’s not fair,” Kurt rocked back in his seat. “I had to work.”

Blaine grinned at him.

Kurt leaned in on both elbows and clasped his hands, fixing him with a very deliberate stare.

“Are you trying to guilt me into doing the dishes?”

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Kurt said. “Is it working?”

“Yes,” Blaine admitted, rolling his eyes fondly as he got up out of his seat and gathered the empty bowls.

She glanced between her parents, eyes bright and curious. “Is that how you make people do stuff?”

Kurt scowled at her. “Layla Elizabeth,” he scolded. “You don’t _make_ people do anything they don’t want to.”

“But you make me eat vegetables,” she argued.

Kurt fixed her with an amused glare. “That’s different.”

“I can make you do stuff,” she said cheekily.

Kurt couldn’t help the curiosity. “Are you threatening me, missy?” he swiped lazily at her bare foot, sticking out from under the table, and she pulled it away with a giggle.

“I can make you help daddy with the dishes,” she insisted, grinning.

“Uhuh,” Kurt said, dubious. “How’s that?”

“I know how to use the phone,” she told him seriously.

“So?”

“I know mom’s number.”

“And I’m helping with the dishes,” Kurt announced eagerly, pulling himself out of his chair. 

He swatted at the back of Blaine’s head when he realised just how hard he was laughing. 

After a long pause, Layla tumbled from her seat gracelessly, landing on her feet and declaring loudly that she was going to draw before scurrying off to gather what she needed.

With a chuckle, Kurt settled his hips against the bench, wiping a dish towel over each bowl that Blaine passed him. He swayed on his feet after a moment, curling against the warmth of his husband’s body.

“I missed you today,” Blaine said, his voice thick and barely above a whisper.

Kurt pressed a kiss to his collarbone, lingering and soft, and hummed against his skin. “Mmm. I missed you too.”

After they’d washed up and stacked the dishes, they wandered back into the living room, where she bounded up to them eagerly and waved a piece of paper high in the air. “I drew Uncle Finn, look!”

Blaine eyed the blob on the page, coiling his arms around Kurt’s waist to rest his chin on his shoulder. “It’s wonderful sweetie, but I think Finn’s a little taller than that.”

“If it was to scale she’d need more paper,” Kurt added with a chuckle, folding his hands over Blaine’s where they rested on his stomach.

“ _Bunny_ ,” she insisted, waving the page.

“Oh!” Blaine nodded his understanding. “Then, perfect.”

She gestured with both hands as if to say a sarcastic _thank you_ , and flopped down next to the coffee table once again, fiddling with a rainbow of crayons.

With private grins they gathered their current books and found an easy sprawl across the couch, pressed against each other and curled together comfortably so both of them could read. Kurt passed Blaine his glasses, and Blaine slid them on, planting a quick kiss behind Kurt's ear in thanks.

Pressing back against Blaine’s chest, his head resting comfortably on his shoulder, Kurt found his bookmarked page and let the paperback fall open against his knee. Soft music filtered across the room, some old musical soundtrack from years ago, so often played now it was just an undercurrent of words and notes slipping by in perfect familiarity.

They read and coloured on into the evening, stopping only when Layla would scramble to her feet and present them with her latest masterpiece before declaring what her next one would be. Kurt traced light fingers lovingly over the shapes and colours that swirled across the pages she handed them. This one would go on the fridge, that one would go in his office. Blaine absconded with the bunny picture early on, declaring it to be a guidebook on how to tell the two Finns apart. Kurt’s stomach hurt from laughing so hard, he had to bury his face in Blaine’s neck to stop from falling off the couch. 

“This one’s going to be a princess,” she said seriously, sweeping lines of black across the page. There was a pause, and her tone shifted into one of quiet curiosity. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, sweetie?” Blaine asked, eyes glued to his book.

“Am I a freak?”

He froze, brow dropping immediately. “Of course not, baby girl, who said that?”

“A boy at the playground today,” she said absently as she poked through a selection of crayons, looking for the perfect blue. “I like this one. Dad what’s it called? Be-jube?”

“Bijou,” Kurt corrected quietly, his voice hesitant. “And which little boy, sweetheart?”

“I only saw you with Jeremy,” Blaine added.

“He was Jeremy’s friend,” she explained. “He kept talking about god and church and how I’m bad because I’ve never been to one. He said I was a freak because I have two daddies.” She kept on colouring without looking up, perfectly at ease.

They’d both lowered their books, exchanging a quick, unsure glance before Blaine asked, “and what did you say, sweetie?”

She shifted onto her hip, shading gently with her crayon. “I said, but your Jesus had two daddies. And he turned out okay.”

Kurt’s face melted into a soft look of adoration, an awe-filled smile spreading slowly across his features. 

Blaine rested his head against Kurt’s gently, closing his eyes. “You know sometimes,” he whispered. “I think she’s the brains of the operation.”

“You and me both,” Kurt murmured back, his voice shaky.

“I think you answered your own question,” Blaine said, loud enough for Layla to hear.

She stopped colouring, and nodded to herself before resuming fiercely.

After a few more moments she came racing over to them again, holding out her latest work. The princess was tall and wore a long blue dress, with messy brown hair and big blue eyes. “It’s me, I’m a princess,” she said.

“We knew that,” Kurt replied, taking the drawing and eyeing over it. “Looks like you get your height from me.”

He squawked as Blaine pinched at his sides.

“Well, it’s true,” he shot back. 

Layla eyed them, waiting for a verdict.

“It’s beautiful, sweetie,” Blaine said softly. “Just like you.”

She grinned, chin jerking up and to the side. Kurt was struck all over again by the same realisation that caught him almost every day, now; that even though she was a product of himself and Rachel, somehow she still managed to be endearingly, endlessly and _unmistakably_ Blaine’s daughter.

“Come here,” Kurt said softly, curling an arm around her waist and pulling her in tight to his chest. 

She settled against him, hands pressing into to her own chest and tugging at her long curls happily. Blaine’s arm lifted from Kurt’s side to brush stray hairs away from her face. 

He could stay here, Kurt decided. He could just stay here quite happily for the rest of his life, with Blaine’s arms around the two of them. Stolen Saturdays were nothing in the face of the long haul, the rest of their lives, and he silently thanked whatever powers he could think of for Saturday nights.


	3. Merry Christmas, and Other Happy Disasters

Snowflakes drifted by the window in swirls, caught on gusts of evening air and twisting into the sea of white below. With two tiny hands and her pixie nose pressed to the glass, Layla watched them swoop by, glittering under the lamplight. She loved winter more than anything. She loved winter coats, and snowball fights, and the way her daddies looked in their scarves and jackets when they took her to the park to play.

She loved the way her toes went pink when the snow soaked through her shoes and her favorite red socks, and stained her feet.

It was Christmas Eve again, and she felt the bristles of their Christmas tree against her back as she climbed down from the window at the sound of her daddy’s voice.

“Eggnog, baby girl,” he said, offering her a little plastic cup. He turned and passed a second cup to their guest.

Rachel beamed at him, still chattering on excitedly about how quickly she planned to get back to work, only stopping mid-sentence to sniff her cup and fix Blaine with an accusing look. “Is this virgin?”

Blaine’s brow shot up to his hairline. “No, Rach, I just gave my five-year-old daughter and my very pregnant surrogate loaded eggnog.”

She rolled her eyes, adjusting herself awkwardly and trying to work around her giant belly. “Just _checking_ , god.”

Layla scampered to the couch and climbed up next to Rachel, somehow miraculously not spilling a drop. “It’s my favorite!” she announced brightly, taking a swig and then promptly deadpanning, her eyes wide.

The moment Blaine’s back was turned she spat back into her cup, just in time to stop Rachel from sipping hers.

Layla leaned over, cupping a hand to her mouth to whisper. “Don’t do it!”

Rachel fixed her with an amused and quizzical expression. 

“It’s my favorite when _Dad_ makes it,” she clarified.

Rachel’s lips pressed together and she barely managed to stop from laughing aloud. A sharp pain caught her off guard, and she hissed under her breath, pushing a hand into her lower back to try and alleviate it.

“Are you okay, Rachel?” Layla asked, blinking up at her.

She nodded. “Fine, sweetie, I’m fine.”

Blaine glanced over to them from the piano stool, sheet music in hand. “Everything alright?”

Rachel nodded, wincing as she shifted again. “It’s fine. It’s just your impossible offspring can’t sit still any more than you can.”

Blaine grinned and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose with the back of his hand.

“One more week,” Rachel said. “One more week and you, miss,” she wrapped an arm around Layla, “will have a baby brother, and I will begin the journey to my triumphant return to the stage!” She swept her hand through the air as she spoke, still clutching her cup of untouched eggnog. “Plus it’s very good luck to have a New Year’s baby.”

“Really?” Layla stared at her in wonder. “Wow.”

“Mm-hmm, and when-” Her words broke off as she flinched again, pushing her hand further into her back.

Blaine watched quietly from the stool, eyes flicking to the clock.

“When,” Rachel went on, “your dad gets home, we can look up all the famous stars who were born on New Year’s day, and your birthday, too.”

Layla clapped her hands in delight.

“When are they getting back?” Rachel asked, hear head lifting to look at Blaine.

“It’s a few hours drive,” Blaine said, eyes still fixed on the clock. “Burt said they’d be at Finn’s till eight.”

When Rachel flinched again, Blaine actually looked mildly panicked. “Um, Rach?”

“Yes?”

“Are you sure those aren’t…” Blaine waved a hand in the air at her vaguely. “You know.”

She raised her brow. “What?”

He tipped his head to the side, eyes avoiding her. “Con… tractions?”

There was a long pause before Rachel laughed, her voice a little higher than usual. She stopped after a moment, and Layla and Blaine both stared at her blankly before she started laughing again. “No. _No_. No, I mean,” she babbled, setting down her eggnog on the side table. “No. Just … _no_.”

“So ‘no’, then,” Blaine clarified jokingly.

She glared. “I _know_ what contractions feel like, I _have_ done this before.”

Blaine raised his hands defensively. “I’m sorry it’s just, they’re fairly,” he gestured to the clock, “evenly spaced.”

“What’s con-stractions?” Layla asked, eyes flicking between the two of them.

“Contractions,” Blaine corrected. “Means the baby is coming.”

“The baby is coming,” Rachel repeated, eyes wide.

“That’s what I said,” Blaine laughed, confused.

“No, I mean…” Rachel waved both hands in the air frantically. “I think, oh my god. I know I said they weren’t but considering I think I just ruined your three thousand dollar couch I think we can safely say the baby is coming.”

“Oh…” Blaine froze. “Oh. _Oh!_ Oh, my god.” He scrambled off his stool, burrowing through both pockets for his phone.

Layla’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and she bounced off the couch and started dancing around in circles singing _the baby’s coming, the baby’s coming!_ as loud as she could.

“Sweetie, have you been going to those singing lessons I gave you for your birthday?” Rachel asked, cocking her head.

“ _Now,_ Rachel? Really?” Blaine asked exasperatedly as his phone dialed. “Kurt? Kurt!” he shouted into the handset. “The baby- Rachel – I mean we’re… She’s… Early! There’s-”

“Spit it out, honey,” Kurt’s voice came down the line.

“We’re having a baby!”

“We’re – wait, what?” Kurt answered. “Did you just say we’re _having a baby_?”

“Yes!” Blaine shouted. “You gotta get home, as soon as you can!”

“Okay, okay, calm down, Horatio,” Kurt scolded excitedly, and Blaine couldn’t help the grin on his face at the sounds of Burt and Carole chattering excitedly in the background. 

“She’s had her bags ready since she came to stay with us, you know how she is,” Kurt went on. “Just put them in the car. You know how fast labor was last time, so get her to the hospital and we’ll get there are soon as we can.”

“Okay!” Blaine chirped back. “Oh, and we need a new couch.”

“Oh my god, what-”

“Worry about it later, see you soon! Love you!” Blaine switched off his phone quickly and pocketed it, rushing to help Rachel off the now alarmingly wet couch and helping her to the bathroom to clean up.

Layla trailed behind them, and hovered by the bathroom door as Blaine rushed to find Rachel’s bags in the guest room and carry them out to the car. He made it as far as the doorstep before he stopped dead, dropping both bags at once.

The car was practically buried, and he couldn’t see the street.

“Oh this is…” He ran both hands through his hair. “This is not good.”

Right on cue, his phone trilled weakly in his pocket.

“Kurt?” he answered it, covering his other ear with his hand. It was Burt’s voice that came down the line.

“Bla–ne – we – sno – in. Can’t g– home.”

“What?”

“Kurt’s looking – anoth – get – home, road’s closed. Just – and take ca – chel. Get her to – spital.”

“ _We’re_ snowed in!” Blaine shouted back down the line, only to be greeted by beeps as the call cut off. “Oh god, oh crap.”

With a deep sigh, he gathered the bags and pulled them back through the heavy front door. He reached the living room just as Rachel waddled back out in a clean dress. “Wh- what are you doing? The bags go in the _car_ , Blaine.”

“Change of plans,” Blaine said, setting them down by the door.

The smile that Rachel found was so, so familiar – that patented Berry smile that basically said _you’re not doing what I want you to do, and this just won’t work for me._ “While I greatly appreciate your dedication to performance in all things, Blaine, this is not really an area where improvisation is encouraged.”

Blaine fixed her with a hesitant look and worried his lip with his teeth for a moment, eyes narrowing as he considered his options. “Do you want the good news, or the bad news, or the really bad news?’

“Good news,” Rachel snapped.

“You’re having a baby!” Blaine tried to make it sound exciting.

“Nice try,” Rachel managed through her teeth as another contraction hit, and she braced herself on the couch. “Bad news?”

“Kurt’s snowed in at Finn’s, I think the roads are closed,” Blaine admitted gently.

“And?”

“So are we.”

Rachel smiled, eye twitching. “That’s … _wonderful_.”

With a sympathetic grimace, he closed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around her waist, helping her over to the unsoiled side of the couch. She groaned again, clutching at her stomach, and Blaine’s eyes flew to the clock. This was going way, way too fast for his liking.

“Okay, okay, it’s alright, we’ll figure something out.” He tried for a soothing tone of voice, but the high pitch betrayed his panic. 

“Nine one one!” he announced suddenly as he straightened. “An ambulance should be able to get through, hang on.”

He tossed his cell phone on to the side table and found the landline, dialling quickly. “Ambulance,” he instructed.

Rachel tapped her foot and rocked slightly, both hands cradling her belly as Layla wandered up beside her. The little girl dropped an armful of star-printed sheets and disappeared again, a piece of paper clutched tightly in her hand.

“Yes, my – friend – is in labor we need an ambulance,” Blaine said quickly, rattling off their address and pausing to listen. “Yes. Oh. Uhuh. Thanks.” He switched off the phone and stared at it for a second. 

“So … all the roads are closed,” he said lightly.

“Fantastic,” Rachel hissed. “That’s just. SUPER.”

“They’ll get here as soon as hey can,” he insisted, controlling his voice carefully. With a few steps he wandered around the couch and knelt down in front of her, rubbing at her arms affectionately and taking both hands. “We’ll be okay. It’s Christmas. We’ll be fine.”

“Of course we will. A lot of starlets had home births,” Rachel insisted brightly, her eye still twitching. “Demi Moore. Meryl Streep. Cindy Crawford had both her children at _hoo-hoooome_!” She groaned out the last word loudly, tipping forward in her seat. 

Blaine whimpered at the crushing grip currently locked firmly around his fingers.

Layla reappeared quietly with some more sheets and towels, dropping them on top of the others and sitting down to browse over her piece of paper again.

“You should be lying down,” she insisted suddenly.

Rachel blinked at her. “What?”

Blaine finally noticed the stack of sheets and towels, and the piece of paper in Layla’s hand. “What’s that sweetie?”

“Instructions I found on the internet,” she said casually. “You should lie down, with pillows.”

Rachel exchanged a startled look with Blaine.

“It says so,” she insisted, waving the instructions at them.

Not willing to argue, Rachel scooted forward on the couch and lay back as Blaine quickly adjusted the cushions behind her for support. “What’s next?”

Layla climbed to her feet, pulling down the pile of sheets and opening one out over the soiled couch cushions. “Turn her this way,” she instructed firmly, and Blaine helped Rachel twist to lie across the couch just as another contraction hit. 

Once Rachel’s grunting noises were over again, Layla waved a hand at both of them. “And take her panties off.”

Blaine froze.

Rachel looked up at him expectantly. After a long pause, Blaine gestured to wait just another minute, and Rachel and rolled her eyes. 

“Blaine Warbler I am giving _birth_ to your _child_ right now, _man up_ or so help me I will-”

“Alright, alright!” Blaine shifted to the other end of the couch, blindly reaching up the sides of Rachel’s dress and hooking her underwear to pull them off. “Well, I guess there’s a first time for everything.”

Layla ignored him. “We have blankets to clean the baby when he gets here.”

“Sweetie,” Blaine interrupted, his eyes narrowed at the star-printed sheets spread across the couch. “These are your favorites.”

“Of course they are,” Layla said simply.

“You know they’ll get ruined?” Rachel asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I want him to see something pretty when he comes out,” Layla said, as if it made perfect sense. She returned her attention to the paper in her hands.

Blaine smiled at her adoringly, and reached out a hand to hold her shoulder before the phone rang violently and he all but jumped out of his skin. He scrambled to answer, pressing the handset to his face. “Kurt? Carole! Hi.”

Rachel bit her lip through another contraction as Blaine sat back on the coffee table, answering yes and no every few moments.

“I called the ambulance, they’re trying to get out now,” he explained. “Ye- yes. We have sheets and towels. And she’s comfortable, Rach you’re comfortable?”

She groaned. “As comfortable as I can be with a four hundred pound warbler barreling out of me!” she shouted.

“She’s comfortable,” Blaine summarised.

“That’s great, sweetheart, you’re doing great. Now, you need to check and see how far she’s dilated,” Carole advised softly.

“Oh,” Blaine shrugged. “Okay, is there like – something in the kitchen I can use or-”

“No, no, Blaine, sweetie,” she cut him off, “you need to use your hand.”

“My-" Blaine blinked. “Wait, what?”

He could hear Kurt’s voice in the background: _OH MY GOD._

"I have to check her ... with my _hand_?" Blaine asked slowly, trying to get his mind around the concept.

“Oh my god,” Rachel echoed, burying her face in her hands. 

“No, no, I can do this,” Blaine insisted, and got to his feet, rushing to the bathroom to wash his hands as thoroughly as possible. He heard the click switch in the earpiece, and knew Carole had put him on speakerphone. 

“We’re trying to get home as soon as we can, honey,” she said. “We’re in the car, but we’ve got a good signal now and the roads are being cleared. I can stay on the line as long as you need.”

“Thank you,” Blaine said genuinely, making his way back out to the living room and stepping around his daughter. “Layla, sweetie, go hold Rachel’s hand?”

She nodded and sprang into action, curling up against Rachel’s side and seizing a hand fiercely in both of her own.

He listened carefully as Carole guided him through it, trying his best to keep his expression neutral and mostly failing while he checked her cervix.

“Oh, oh-ho no, you think _you’re_ uncomfortable right now?” Rachel cried, swatting uselessly at him and grunting through another wave. “This your fault! You did this to me!”

“Technically a turkey baster did this to you,” Blaine quipped as he wiped his hand on the towels.

“ _Not the time, Blaine,_ ” he heard Kurt call out in the background through the earpiece.

“She’s at 10,” Blaine told them. “Is that good or b-” his voice cut of as Rachel screeched and lurched on the couch with another contraction. 

“That’s what I was for Layla!” she shouted through gritted teeth.

“Oh crap,” Blaine juggled the phone where he’d almost dropped it and pressed it back to his ear. “Carole? CAROLE. I think the baby’s coming!”

“Yes, sweetie.” She was trying not to laugh at the half-excited, half-terrified tone in his voice, but Blaine didn’t hear it. “Can you put me on speaker? You need both hands.”

He glanced down at the phone for a second and found the right button, pressing it and handing the phone to Layla.

“Okay, now you need to get between her legs, honey, to deliver the baby,” Carole explained carefully, ignoring the strange squawking noise that no doubt came from Kurt in the background. 

“Babies that come this fast usually deliver nice and easy, okay? When the next contraction hits, Rachel honey, you have to push. Blaine just guide him out, really carefully, and make sure you support him.”

“Oh my god, oh my _god_ ,” Kurt’s voice echoed, followed by the soft mumbling sounds of Burt trying to calm him down.

Rachel pushed, screeching and grunting viciously as she propped herself up on her elbows with Layla still coiled around her and stroking her hair.

“I can see the head!” Blaine announced giddily, eyes wide and slightly mortified but still filled with wonder. “Holy _crap_ , he has a huge head! Rach how the fuck are you doing this?”

“Children present!” Rachel grunted.

“Oh, he’s allowed to use bad words today, so are you,” Layla offered, patting at Rachel gently.

“Oh, good,” Rachel gasped, panting and exhausted. 

“Another big push honey, you ready?” Carole’s voice crackled from the speaker.

Rachel’s ‘yes’ was mostly a grunted scream as she pushed hard, and her entire body tensed. “CURSE THE DAY I MET YOU KURT ELIZABETH HUMMEL!”

Suddenly, a round of wailing cries filled the room.

“I’ve got him!” Blaine announced loudly, his voice breaking.

“Oh thank _god_ ,” Kurt breathed a loud sigh of relief through the speaker, and Burt cheered in the background.

“I just delivered a baby!” Blaine said breathlessly in disbelief, cradling the mess of screaming, gooey infant to his chest. “I just _delivered_ a _baby_!”

“That’s GREAT Blaine,” Rachel groaned, slapping her hand into the couch with every following word. “I. AM. SO. HAPPY. FOR. YOU.”

“Oh god, shit, sorry Rach,” he lifted the baby up, careful of the umbilical cord, so she could see.

Layla’s nose wrinkled. “I don’t think he’s done yet, can you put him back in?”

“Blaine, sweetie, you need to clean him off as carefully as you can, okay?” Carole piped in, and Blaine shifted quickly to grab another sheet.

“Got it,” Blaine said, and then laughed loudly. “And clean _her_ off.” 

“ _What?!_ ” Kurt, Rachel and Layla shouted in unison.

“It’s a girl!” Blaine chirped as he wiped the wailing baby down, careful of her mouth and eyes.

“Geez, she’s got a set of lungs on her,” Burt said.

“ _Excellent_ ,” Rachel sighed with a smile.

“Rachel, honey, you need to get ready for the afterbirth. Blaine don’t cut the cord yet, okay, they’ll take care of that when they get there,” Carole instructed. “Now, run your fingers down from the bridge of her nose to her nostrils really carefully, clear out any fluid.”

Blaine did as he was told immediately, wiping gently at her face. “Wow,” he breathed as he stared down at her, still grinning from ear to ear despite the numbingly loud screaming.

“Nose!” Rachel cried, hands suddenly flying into the air. “Show her to me! Show me!”

Startled, Blaine lifted the baby up again, and Rachel inspected her for a moment before collapsing back with a giant smile. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s happening?” Burt asked.

“Same thing happened with Layla, she’s just making sure the baby didn’t get her nose,” Kurt explained.

The whoop of an ambulance siren sounded loudly from the front of the house, and Blaine’s head shot up. “They’re here!”

“Wonderful, oh,” Carole gushed. “That’s wonderful – they’ll take it from here, and we’ll meet you at the hospital, okay?”

“Okay, Layla sweetie – go unlock the door?” Blaine asked, and Layla put down the phone on the coffee table before she scurried away quickly.

“We’ll meet you at the hospital!” Blaine agreed, and Rachel smiled at him sleepily. He let out a rough breath. “Kurt?”

“I’m here! I’m here,” Kurt’s voice got closer to the phone.

“We have another little girl,” Blaine said, staring down at the baby tucked against his chest.

Kurt’s voice was shaky on the other end of the line. “Yes, we do.”

*

The three of them pressed against the viewing glass together, eyes lingering over the tiny ball of sleeping infant in the plastic cot beyond.

“What about Amelia?” Blaine offered, glancing at his husband. “After mom.”

“Middle name,” Kurt conceded. “Maybe. But she still needs a first name.”

“Middle name works,” Blaine agreed.

“She’s so pretty,” Layla breathed. She was perched on Kurt’s hip, her head tucked against his shoulder.

“She’s beautiful,” Blaine agreed. “Just like you.”

Kurt kissed his daughter’s forehead. “I’m so proud of you, Layla.”

She smiled, curling a fist around the edge of his jacket.

“You were so good today, I couldn’t have done it without you.” Blaine reached out a hand and poked at her playfully. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said nonchalantly. “I think I should get to name her.”

Kurt exchanged a look with his husband. “Really?”

“Well there’s an idea,” Blaine said.

“What would you call her, sweetie?” Kurt asked.

“Christmas! She was born on Christmas, after all.”

Kurt winced.

“Or,” Layla said softly. “Belle.”

Blaine arched an eyebrow at her, slipping an arm around Kurt’s waist to pull them both closer. “Like the princess?”

“No, it’s from _A Christmas Carol_ ,” she explained softly. “Even mean old Ebenezer fell in love with Belle. So she must have been very beautiful.”

Kurt looked to Blaine, a soft smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “Belle Amelia Anderson-Hummel?”

Blaine grinned. “It has a nice ring to it.”

Quiet fell across the hallway, and after a moment, Blaine brushed his nose through Kurt’s hair, and kissed his temple softly. “Merry Christmas,” he breathed.

Kurt smiled. “That’s one hell of a Christmas present.”

“I made it myself,” Blaine added with a smirk.

With a rough laugh, Kurt adjusted Layla on his hip. “Well, I love it.”

“Me too,” Layla chimed in.

Kurt swayed against Blaine’s shoulder as silence fell again, and they pressed in to each other, soaking in the warmth and the feeling of having the three of them together again, at last.

Actually, make that four.


End file.
